The little village of Poros lies in a small bay backed by large mountains. The main road out is steeply uphill through an unlit gorge. Large trucks disengorging from our ferry are rumbling up the road. It's after 9 at night and we are wondering where to camp. Gayle is unfazed and goes by the mantra "there's always somewhere to camp". (Witness her inspired suggestion when arriving by train in Turkmenabad at midnight here.) We amble along the shoreline where there's a shallow pebble beach and a gusty wind. The seaside promenade houses eventually end. In the dark we make out some small olive terraces beneath cliffs. One grove has a broken fence. It is calling to us. We climb over with all our panniers and bikes and find a spot in the undergrowth. Our first night in Kefalonia is a late one, but it's delightfully peaceful.
In the morning we take a lovely valley road northwards. We have decided to stay up on the northern tip at a village called Fiskardo, where we've booked an appartment. We take a day and a half to ride it as we have to climb twice to cross passes. Along the way we pass through a couple of reasonably nice coastal villages with hints of the mass tourism that exists on the eastern side of the island. These places are very low-key.
We can see Ithaca island but our planned island-hopping up the west coast is stymied by the low season ferry schedule. The ride to Fiskardo is stunning in parts and really enjoyable but at the same time it's good to arrive. The joys of a washing machine and an oven cannot be put into mere words. We would have to convey our pleasure through the medium of expressive dance I think. But this is nothing compared to our delight at finding two lovely beach coves where we can spend a few sunny days relaxing.
The village is virtually empty - only 80 full-time residents perhaps - but hotels, rental appartments and restaurants are busy with decorators and cleaners preparing for the new season. The village is 'a bit yachty' in the summer but there are only four or five here right now.
It's hard to leave Fiskardo. This is our last stop in Greece. In Sani town we camp at the large campground on the seafront and early on a Sunday morning take the ferry to Patra.
They've built a brand new ferry terminal for the ferries to Italy and it looks rather clean and rather quiet when we buy our tickets for Ancona. We're just sorting stuff out on the bikes when police sirens start getting nearer. And then a large group of young men all appear from behind the terminal building running and fanning out across the carpark. Soon they are scaling a fence and sprinting across the main road. The fence-scaling looks dramatic - there are open entrances at both ends of the long carpark - but then these guys probably want the practice, They are clearly all immigrants trying to get on a ship illegally. It's only then that we see the razor wire and the silver SUVs of the port police. Despite the kerfuffle we decide to cook our main meal at a picnic bench next to the carpark. While we're doing this lorries arrive and the drivers get out to book their places. I'm just frying the veggies when the sirens begin again and Gayle observes a large group of men belting towards us. It's not threatening but it is unsettling. A police car gets close andthe men scatter around all the lorries. These are the targets. Men try to climb under the cabs and into the trailers. It all looks very random but also very desperate. The police don't seem to want to actually arrest anyone but just scare the men off. Later we see them sitting and watching from the roof of an abandoned building opposite.
It's a shock to come face to face with this scene. Here we are, the lucky ones, with the passports and the money to go wherever we want, on just another leg of our journey. Whilst for them it seems that this is their last resort.
In the morning we take a lovely valley road northwards. We have decided to stay up on the northern tip at a village called Fiskardo, where we've booked an appartment. We take a day and a half to ride it as we have to climb twice to cross passes. Along the way we pass through a couple of reasonably nice coastal villages with hints of the mass tourism that exists on the eastern side of the island. These places are very low-key.
We can see Ithaca island but our planned island-hopping up the west coast is stymied by the low season ferry schedule. The ride to Fiskardo is stunning in parts and really enjoyable but at the same time it's good to arrive. The joys of a washing machine and an oven cannot be put into mere words. We would have to convey our pleasure through the medium of expressive dance I think. But this is nothing compared to our delight at finding two lovely beach coves where we can spend a few sunny days relaxing.
The village is virtually empty - only 80 full-time residents perhaps - but hotels, rental appartments and restaurants are busy with decorators and cleaners preparing for the new season. The village is 'a bit yachty' in the summer but there are only four or five here right now.
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| ruin of a Byzantine church |
It's hard to leave Fiskardo. This is our last stop in Greece. In Sani town we camp at the large campground on the seafront and early on a Sunday morning take the ferry to Patra.
They've built a brand new ferry terminal for the ferries to Italy and it looks rather clean and rather quiet when we buy our tickets for Ancona. We're just sorting stuff out on the bikes when police sirens start getting nearer. And then a large group of young men all appear from behind the terminal building running and fanning out across the carpark. Soon they are scaling a fence and sprinting across the main road. The fence-scaling looks dramatic - there are open entrances at both ends of the long carpark - but then these guys probably want the practice, They are clearly all immigrants trying to get on a ship illegally. It's only then that we see the razor wire and the silver SUVs of the port police. Despite the kerfuffle we decide to cook our main meal at a picnic bench next to the carpark. While we're doing this lorries arrive and the drivers get out to book their places. I'm just frying the veggies when the sirens begin again and Gayle observes a large group of men belting towards us. It's not threatening but it is unsettling. A police car gets close andthe men scatter around all the lorries. These are the targets. Men try to climb under the cabs and into the trailers. It all looks very random but also very desperate. The police don't seem to want to actually arrest anyone but just scare the men off. Later we see them sitting and watching from the roof of an abandoned building opposite.
It's a shock to come face to face with this scene. Here we are, the lucky ones, with the passports and the money to go wherever we want, on just another leg of our journey. Whilst for them it seems that this is their last resort.
